


Oh! You Mean It's Actually Christmas

by apliddell



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Christmas, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, POV First Person, POV Sherlock Holmes, post-Mary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 15:11:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5421704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apliddell/pseuds/apliddell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's John's first Christmas back in 221B, and Sherlock wants to make it very special for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oh! You Mean It's Actually Christmas

“Mmm,” John gives a soft murmur of satisfaction and stretches his socked feet out toward the fire for toasting. He shoots me a glance over his (third) glass of mulled wine, then smiles down into his drink when he sees me looking at him. Is it a significant sort of smile, or is that only my fancy? No, don’t let’s get into all that again or I’ll lose my nerve. I open my mouth to make my offer, but John interrupts me, “I’m glad we decided not to travel for Christmas this year.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I mean it was lovely of your parents to invite us, but…” John trails off and looks around the room, “Well the flat looks nice. This is you, isn’t it? The decorations?” He gestures toward the twinkling tree in the corner with his elbow. “I didn’t know you went in for this sort of thing.”

I shrug, “It’s only fairy lights and paper snowflakes, John. Hardly worth writing home about.”

John smiles, “Yeah, but you made the snowflakes yourself.”

“What sort of person would buy paper snowflakes?” John laughs, and I grin back, “It’s homely, isn’t it? I thought you might.” Shrug again, “I thought you’d like something. Normal.”

“Ahhh,” he says softly. “Something normal. Hmm.” John sips from his wine glass, “Maybe for the sake of law and order I ought to stop trying for normal. It doesn’t seem to be doing anyone any good, does it?”

My stomach twists. I fidget with the outer seam of my pyjama trousers and look at the tree, “You don’t like it.”

“Oh no, Sherlock. That isn’t what I meant at all,” John’s voice is so soft with drink and concern that I look away from the tree to meet his eye. “It’s lovely.” He leans forward,

“You’re not the problem, really you’re not.”

“The problem?” John does not answer, only leans back in his chair with another little sigh and sets his nearly empty glass on the side table. My moment may have passed. Has probably passed. Then again it’s the sort of thing that only exists in the imagination. Dither briefly, then stand and stretch. I make for my music stand near the window and shuffle the sheet music about noisily. “John?”

John looks up dreamily, “Mmm?”

I lift my instrument, “Any requests?”

John cocks his head, “Do you know I’ll Be Home For Christmas?”

“Of course,” I turn to the window, raise my bow and begin to play. Glance at John’s reflection in the window, and he’s watching me intently with something so like pleased cunning flickering on his face that I nearly miss a note. Shut my eyes. Focus on my fingers. I play it through twice quite slowly and sigh with the last notes as they fade from the air, my eyes still shut. “Anything else?” I lower my violin and turn toward John’s chair to find John himself standing just behind me.

He’s still smiling quite slyly, but when he speaks his voice is very serious (playfully serious or serious serious?)(can't tell), “I think I owe you an apology.”

I swallow, “An apology?”

“Mmm,” John wets his lips and edges a bit closer. His socked toes are touching mine, and I can feel the radiant warmth of his body. “Yes, Sherlock, I’m really sorry. I hope you can forgive me.”

My head’s gone a bit fuzzy. I clear my throat, “I expect so. What for?”

John’s smile broadens, and he rests one warm, soft hand on my forearm where my dressing gown sleeve has fallen back to expose my skin, “For being too thick to spot when I’m being seduced.” He slides his hand down my arm, and I shut my eyes again. John gently tugs my violin and bow away from me and sets them aside. He takes my hands, “Well, Sherlock? Do you forgive me?”

John presses my hands between his, and I open my eyes. He’s beaming at me like I’ve never seen before. Luminous. He dazzles me. John presses my hands again, and I remember that I’ve been asked a question, “Yes,” I manage.

“Lovely,” John edges closer still and slides one hand to my waist. His chest is against mine now; he must feel my racing heart (that’s all I can feel apart from John’s hands on me, his breath on me, his smile on me, his warmth on me), “And I,” he wets his lips, “I am meant to kiss you now, yes? We’ve got to that bit?”

“Yes,” My voice cracks (mortifying!), and I shut my eyes, “Ah erm. If you. Feel adequately seduced.”

John’s mouth is still laughing when he kisses me, gentle gentle gentle (we are both thinking, I believe, that joy this bright feels almost as if it could scorch). John laughs and smiles against my lips, but he draws back with tears in his eyes.

“John?” John draws a ragged little breath something like a sob, and I pull him to me and hug him very tightly. “Are you all right, John?” I feel him nod, but he seems unable to speak. John buries his face against my shoulder, and we rock on the spot for a moment, clutching each other like frightened children.

“I’m sorry,” he says into my shoulder after a bit.

I stroke his back, “There is nothing to-”

John squeezes me, “Let me get it out, all right?” I acquiesce with silence and squeeze back. He sighs and begins again, raising his head slightly to speak into my ear, “I was stupid and slow, and I nearly ruined everything, and I’m so, so sorry. There was so much that you. You’ve always.” He pauses, steadies himself. I tighten my arms around him,

“You’ve always, always done so much to make me happy, and I suppose I’ve hardly even noticed half of it-”

“I wanted to! I want to, John. I never begrudged you any of it.”

“I know that.” John snuffles against my shoulder and wipes his eyes. “Well. I’ve got a bit of catching up to do.”

“I never wanted anything from you, John! I just. All I want is-”

“To be together,” he finishes for me. He draws back a bit to look into my face, “Here I’ve gone rogue from the programme again, haven’t I?” He strokes my arm.

I crack a smile, “A bit.”

John shakes his head and sniffs hard, “I always imagined this moment with no snot at all, so I’m cocking it up for myself as well, if that’s any consolation.”

I find a tissue in my pocket and offer it to him, “I don’t mind the snot so much.”

John wipes his nose and tosses the tissue on the fire, “Thank you, Sherlock. For everything, I mean. It’s perfect,” he hugs me. “Thank you.”

“It’s no-” I cut myself off. “It’s my pleasure, John. Because I. I. I love you.”

John draws back from me and holds me by the shoulders. His eyes are very bright, “Say that again? Please.”

I smile, “I’m in love with you.” That star-bright joy is shining out of John, and he clasps my neck and kisses me and kisses me.

“Well,” John clears his throat. He looks as dazed as I feel, but my John is still dazzling me. “Are we back on course? What was next up?”

“Ah.” I shrug, “All I’d planned up to was the kissing, actually. I thought either I’d spontaneously combust from it, or you’d know what to do next.”

John giggles, “Me?”

“Well you’re the expert! Kissing and things is your area!”

"My area! Flattering." John grins, “All right then. Let’s carry on kissing ‘til we think of something to do next. I’m sure we can get inspired.”

“You think so?”

John winks and leads me toward the sofa, “I’m sure of it,” he flops onto it and pulls me down next to him. “What was it you called me? A conductor of light? You said I’ve got a remarkable capacity for stimulating geniuses?”

“Genius,” I correct him. “Just the one for the moment, I hope.”

“Right, just the one.” John cups my cheek, strokes my hair, kisses my jaw, my throat, leaving gooseflesh in the wake of his gentle touch. “Oh!”

I shiver, “Yes, John?”

He brushes his nose against mine, “I’ve thought of something.”

“Yes?”

“I love you, too.”


End file.
